Another Alice
by 1destiny
Summary: A boy with no memory awakens in Cradle. Years later, when the boy is a man, a girl they call Alice the Second appears and shakes up the entire country. But is she truly Alice number two? Meanwhile, the Joker has been fighting alone against an unknown threat, one more powerful than even the magic tower. The world as Cradles residents knew it is about to change. Short chapters.
1. Prologue: The Powers that Be

The rain poured in a hypnotic rhythm, drenching all of Cradle in a cleansing deluge. Given the weather, in addition to the late hour, the country's residents-black, red, or central alligned-found just about any reason they could to stay indoors all cozy and dry.

But Harr had something important to do. There was someone he had to talk to.

His footsteps were lost in the rain. Though his hood did a decent job of keeping him dry, the chill breeze managed to worm its way into his bones. All around him, the soft glow of the crystals cast the forest in an otherworldly light. As far as he knew, he was the only person to ever come this far out in the forest. He was in so deep that the trees towered above him like giants and seemed to watch him, completely uncaring.

A sudden gust of wind threw his cloak into a frenzy of flapping as he shoved through the damp foliage into an almost perfectly circular clearing. Standing at its center was the purple and blue crystalline figure that he had become frustratingly familiar with. The statue.

It was only slightly larger than a typical person and was distinctly human in shape, though without any defining features that might suggest either masculinity or femininity. It stood straight, arms crossed behind its back and shoulders squared as its empty face gazed toward the sky as if it were searching for the moon.

Harr slowed to a stop before it and clenched his fists before raising his voice to address it.

"Carol."

A light bloomed inside of the statue, illuminating it in much the same way as the standard magic crystals that dotted the landscape of this land.

_"__So, you have returned yet again."_ A voice spoke, coming from everywhere and nowhere. It was incredibly loud, but softer than a whisper. It was strong and commanding, yet weak and frail. It was the voice of many spun into a single voice. Harr was still not sure if it was truly sound or just a projection of such inside his head. _"It is good to see you, Joker. I think I can guess why you are here."_

Harr scowled. "You did it again. Reset it all and changed everything."

_"__I did,"_ the voice agreed, a hint of amusement coming through. _"This was a particularly interesting run, I think. I enjoy seeing how my main character reacts to everything that is thrown at her."_

"Alice the second-Elizabeth-isn't some fictional heroine to be played with. She's a person. Every time she finds happiness the clock is reset and it's like it never happened. The bonds she builds with the others in this world get erased like they meant nothing and no one remembers."

_"__You say no one remembers? But you're here, aren't you, Joker? A fact that baffles even me. You recall everything. I wonder if it might be your magical prowess that allows you to remain in place, even as everything else is wound back. Perhaps in one of the future plotlines, we'll be able to find out."_

"Stop it." Harr's voice rose to almost a shout. It wasn't like him to lose his composure, but facing Carol made him feel so unstable and insignificant. "There can't be any more of your plot lines. You have to stop manipulating everything. We are alive! We aren't things for you to play with and position like dolls."

_"__It seems like you don't fully grasp what I'm doing, Joker." The voice tutted thoughtfully. "I manipulate only one thing. Time. But time is so central to existence that altering it can bring about countless unseen possibilities. For example, if the black army hesitates in getting home by only a few minutes, the red army goes to confront them to take the main character from them, and a horseback battle ensues where the Jack of Spades does all he can to defend her. But if they leave immediately, she is loaded into a carriage with the queen and left in his care. If she waits a few days to go into town, she meets the red Queen and Jack and is taken by the red army. But if she goes out the day after arriving, she meets a certain stray cat. Isn't it fascinating? I wonder what will happen next."_

"Why…" Voice breaking, Harr fell back a step, feeling a mix of horror and despair. "Loki and Elizabeth have just moved in together. They have their whole lives ahead of them. How can you find so much joy in tearing them apart? And then there was Sirius…" His words faded away after that name, a painful twinge in his heart almost making him gasp. He jammed his eyes closed, feeling the rain leaving cold wet trails down his skin. "Who are you to destroy everything the people of this world have worked toward. Just when there is peace between the armies. Just when Amon Jaberwock has been defeated. You swoop in and make it all for nothing?"

_"__You ask who I am? I am the storyteller. I am the author. I am Carol."_

"You are a monster," Harr asserted, opening his eyes once again and gazing at the being before him. "A greater threat to this land than war, or even the magic tower. When will you be satisfied? When is enough enough? The same month plays over and over again, endlessly repeating. If you are a god, you are the cruelest of gods."

_ "__A god? I suppose I could be called that. But perhaps you have a point."_ Carol's voice became introspective, and Harr could almost picture a thoughtful expression appearing on the upturned face. _"The same month and the same players will eventually get old and lose their savor. I have been considering altering the narrative somewhat. Yes. That seems like an excellent idea."_ And suddenly, there was a conviction in the statue's tone, and Harr shuddered. _"Thank you for your input, Joker. Perhaps I will make you a main player in the next round as a reward. But that may take a while. For this next story, I will need to take things back even farther. Be patient."_

"No!" Harr croaked. But before another word could be spoken, the rain ceased to fall. Droplets of water hung suspended in the air like diamonds, frozen in time. Then there was a blinding flash and the world as Harr knew it was gone.

* * *

A child was falling.

Down, down, down he tumbled, into a hole much deeper and wider than one would have expected looking at its entrance. He screamed and cried out but his words were inaudible even to his own ears, ripped out of his lungs by the howling of the wind. His few possessions trailed in his wake, flying from the small sack he had been carrying on his back before he had fallen. All he had was the worn, leather-bound journal he had spirited away with him when he had left that night. He clung to it like it was a lifeline, but it did nothing to slow his descent.

The glowing lights and nonsensical shapes of the walls of the hole left him disoriented as he thrashed about wildly. It felt like he had been falling forever. Would he ever hit the ground? Did he ever want to?

One of his kicking feet found the wall, and he inadvertently thrust himself forward in his fall as a result of the motion. The crown of his head cracked sharply against the opposite side of the hole and he saw stars flash before his eyes before everything went dark.

His tumbling form went as limp as a rag doll and his vice grip on the journal slacked enough that a sudden strong breeze tore it away from him and sent it off into oblivion. Hid unconscious body appeared as a dark shape against an otherworldly moon over a country sleeping soundly, completely unaware of his continuing fall.

Down, down, down some more.

His trajectory was erratic and unpredictable. If he had been aware, he would have seen himself plummeting toward the cobblestone streets.

Then, SPLASH!

His downward journey ended in the waters of a canal that circled a central city.

There he would remain, floating face-up in the gentle current, until passers-by would fish him out in the morning, and he would get his first real look at the country of Cradle.


	2. Chapter 1: Rumors

A bell tinkled as the shop's door was pushed open by a man known to most as Thomas. His sturdy leather shoes carried him across the threshold, treading on years worth of wood shavings and sawdust as they did. The sandy-haired young man let out a contented sigh as the door swung softly shut behind him.

"I'm home," he announced.

The sound of scraping that seemed to always fill the air here paused. A man, his face half-obscured behind a thick, bristly beard, looked up at him momentarily before turning his attention back to his work. The scraping resumed as he slowly and meticulously dragged a planing tool across the surface of a rough wooden desk.

"You're home late." The older man mused, voice almost as rough as the tool's scraping. "Did you make the delivery on time?"

"Yes, uncle." Thomas nodded, stepping around other projects that sat scattered about the room, all in varying states of completion. He found a seat in a wobbly chair situated against a wall and set a linen sack on the floor and his belongings in his lap-A notebook, a pen, and a small folding knife. "Mrs. Hammon was ecstatic to get her jewelry box back and said you repaired it so well that she couldn't even tell it had been broken. And The Westly family is real happy about the rocking chair. They kept me there for almost half an hour, just to keep telling me how perfect it is." He laughed softly at the fond recollection. "I ran into Lewis while I was out, too. He asked me when he could expect his kitchen table to be finished."

"Soon. I need to finish this desk for the King of Hearts first. It takes priority over other orders. Once it's done, I'll get to work on Lewis' table."

"I told him as much. He's not thrilled, but he understands."

"Good boy, Mouse." The old man nodded, eyes never leaving his work.

"Thanks, Uncle March." Thomas smiled, flipping open the cover of his notebook and thumbing through the sketches that filled it. For a time there was a heavy silence. Thomas shifted in his seat several times, eyes darting between his book and his caretaker quickly as he searched for a way to bring up what he wanted to talk about.

"So," he began at last, settling on a rough sketch of a songbird, "It looks like things aren't going to be very peaceful after today."

"Why's that now?"

"Because the red and black armies have completely given up on diplomacy. Today things officially escalated back into official war."

"Not good," Jack March grumbled to himself, glaring down at the desk he was working on, as if the cherry wood had personally wronged him, "Not good at all. What was it that finally broke the camel's back then?"

"Well that's another thing," Thomas said, sitting up a bit straighter. "I was talking to a friend of mine from the black army-"

"That's why you're home so late then, eh?" The old carpenter cut in, cocking an unkempt eyebrow. "You were off chatting with the soldiers instead of getting your work done."

"I had already finished the deliveries by then," Thomas protested. "Anyway, that isn't the point. I was talking to my friend and he told me this really interesting story. He said that the second Alice has appeared here in Cradle, and that she's now in black territory, under the protection of the black army! And the Red Army isn't happy about that."

For the second time that night, the scraping stopped. March looked up at his young ward, his gaze intense.

"Another Alice has arrived? Are you sure?"

"That's what he said. Could you toss me a piece of scrap wood, please?" He shrugged his shoulders a little sheepishly.

The older man went to a small pile of leftover wood pieces and tossed a relatively evenly sized block to Thomas.

"Well, was _he _sure?"

"I don't know," Thomas admitted, catching the wood and opening up his folding knife. Glancing at the sketch in his lap, he began to lop off corners of the block, bringing it down to a more manageable size and shape. "He said he had heard about Alice the Second, and then had seen a girl come back with the Army's officers. He didn't mention talking to her or anything."

"So it's just rumors, then," March muttered dismissively, getting back to the task at hand with no intention of stopping again until he made some good progress.

"Well I don't think he was lying to me, Uncle," Thomas said.

"I didn't say he was lying to you. He probably told you all he knew. But it sounds like he didn't know very much, and without actual proof, it remains a rumor."

"I suppose," Thomas admitted, sitting back in his wobbly chair and looking like the wind had been taken out of his sails. But he sat up again quickly, the knife falling still in his hands. "But what if the rumors turn out to be true? If a new Alice really has arrived! Everyone knows the stories about the first Alice; how her arrival introduced all of Cradle to an entirely different world with different laws and people! What kinds of things could we learn from a second outsider?"

"You talk about her like she's some sort of new exhibit in a museum."

"I don't mean it like that," he muttered, looking down at his hands.

"Well, that's what it sounds like. Mouse, if a new Alice was to turn up, she wouldn't be some mysterious creature. She'd be a girl who is lost and confused after accidentally ending up in a world she knows nothing about. Something maybe you can empathize with."

"Mm." Thomas only grunted softly in response, but his uncle's point hit home. For just a moment, the room around him disappeared, painted over by his memory of a dim alleyway, the smell of garbage and ditch water, and the overwhelming sensation of isolation and confusion.

"The best thing to do if she really does come is leave her alone. Let her get by unnoticed and unbothered so that she can eventually go home safely."

"You're right," he sighed, setting his now roughly bird-shaped hunk of wood to the side. "You're always right. I still wish I could meet her, though. Even if just to talk to her and learn what kind of person she is."

"I'd expect she's just like anyone else here." And with that, Uncle March put an end to the conversation.

Thomas picked up his belongings. "Have you eaten yet?" He asked, unsurprised when Uncle shook his head in response. "Alright. I'll bring you something down. I picked up some rolls from the bakery on my way home," he said, gently shaking his linen sack for emphasis. "They'll go well with stew, I think."

"Don't trouble yourself," his Uncle grunted.  
"It's not any trouble." He dismissed the words with a smile. "I'll be back with some dinner in a bit." He crossed the room toward a set of stairs that led to the living quarters above the shop, stopping briefly to pat his caretaker companionably on the shoulder.

Jack March was once again left alone in his workshop. Above him, he could hear Thomas's footsteps as his charge moved around the kitchen upstairs. He was a good-hearted lad, Jack knew, if a bit naive at times. He had been that way for as long as he had known him; so trusting, even with not a memory to his name. It would have been all to easy for someone to take advantage of him like that, and he expected someone would have if they had thought they'd have anything to gain from it. Sometimes, Jack wondered where the boy would be now if he hadn't stumbled across him as he had all those years ago.

And now that his mind was on Thomas, Jack couldn't help but ponder about the boy's eccentricities, too. This hadn't been the first time he had wanted to talk about the person (people, now, if what he had said held any weight) called Alice. He had been fascinated by the tales of the first Alice that were traded around Cradle like fairy tales. And then there was the still stranger preoccupation he held about books with leather covers. The first time he had taken him with him as a child to make a delivery to the book store, he had just stood at one of the displays the whole time Jack had been speaking with the owner, stroking the covers as though they were small animals.

The sound of the bell above the door broke him out of his trance.

"Shop is closed, come back tomorrow." He muttered, looking up from his hands to the person standing in his doorway.

"Tsk, you can't make an exception for me?" Seth Hyde asked coyly, arms crossing over his pristine black uniform.

"Especially not for you." Jack stood up straight and took a cloth out of his pocket, using it to wipe his dusty hands. "You bring nothing but trouble, Ten of Spades."

"Oh, how rude." Seth clicked his tongue cattily and made his way inside anyway, seating himself in the chair that Thomas had abandoned not too long ago. He blinked, then began shifting his weight in the chair, feeling it wobble beneath him. "Why in the world is there a wobbly chair in a carpenter's workshop?"

"I like that wobbly chair. It makes uninvited visitors leave quicker." he quipped, setting his hands on his hips and eying the army officer with a stern gaze. "Why are you here?"

"Straight to the point, as always, I see. Your lack of tact is truly barbaric, March Hare." Seth sighed. He crossed his legs at the knees and set his hands on his lap gracefully. "Communicating with you is exhausting. And I've already had such a tiring day."

"I'd heard as much. So it's true then? The war is picking back up?"

"Unfortunately, it is. Talks between the armies completely broke down today."

"Wonderful," Jack grumbled, dropping his hands and leaning back against the elegant desk that had been occupying so much of his time as of late. "That's bad news for my business."

"That's really what you're concerned about?"

"What else should I be concerned about? All I want is a quiet life, working on my projects and watching the sunrise. I feel like I've earned that much. Though, now that you mention it, I've also heard some rumors that are a little… startling in their implications."

"Rumors? You've never set much stock in hearsay, Jack. But I think I know what you mean." Seth's gaze drilled into Jack's, implying a deep meaning veiled in his next words. "Certain rumors have a thread of truth running through them. And it's that truth that we really need to watch out for."

Silence spread between the two men, both ruminating on the implications of that truth. Finally, the old carpenter let out a heavy breath through his nose, ruffling his salt and pepper mustache.

"I see. Alright then. Thank you for keeping me informed, Seth."

"I'm sure I don't have any idea what you're talking about," he replied flippantly, one finger idly twirling a silver lock from his elegant ponytail. "I just came here to place an order. Whenever you have time, I'd really appreciate if you could make something for me." From a pocket on the inside of his long coat, Seth drew out a scrap of folded paper and held it out to the older man. Cocking an eyebrow, Jack pushed himself off his perch and took it, opening it to examine the specifics of the order.

"I'm somewhat swamped at the moment. But I could have Thomas work on it for you. If that's agreeable to you, It could be ready for you in only a short while. A couple of weeks at most."

"Your nephew? Is he as skilled in the trade as you are?"

"I wouldn't give him a project like this if he wasn't."

"Alright then, I'll trust in your judgment on this one. Just make sure all the specifications are met. It's very important to me."

"Will do. Are we done here?"

Seth's handsome features adopted a hurt expression and he pouted. "I can't believe you're so ready to shuffle me out the door like I'm no one! How do you keep any business with that sort of attitude? Fine! I can see when I am unwelcome, so I'll take my leave. I'm expected back at base anyway." The tall man rose from his place, dusted off his coat, and pranced toward the door. He paused with his hand on the handle and looked back at old Jack March, who was still standing in the exact same spot, eyes still on the bit of paper he had been given. "Oh, and Jack? I'll be sure to be back if I hear any more interesting rumors since you seem to be getting a taste for them. Be sure to expect me. Have a good night, March Hare."

"10 of Spades." Was all Jack said in the way of a goodbye. And with the tinkling of the bell, Seth was gone, disappearing into the night like a shadow.

* * *

**AN: As of the time of writing, Seth's route has yet to be released in the game, as have Harr's, Blanc's, and Olivers. Therefore, any plot points made about their characters are made out of what information I can gather about them from other routes. When they are finally released, it's unlikely they will line up with my story. So please consider this fiction canon divergent in that sense.**

**Also, regarding chapter length, you can expect them to be between 1000 and 3000 words, depending on the amount of time I have in writing them. I'm hoping that the shorter chapters will help me keep up motivation and momentum, rather than waiting to put out longer chapters around my work schedule.**

**Thank you.**

**1D, December 5, 2019.**


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